


Kisses Under the Harvest Moon

by TheRealSEHinton



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: M/M, it's from a prompt i got on le tumbla, this is just fluff lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26778586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealSEHinton/pseuds/TheRealSEHinton
Summary: “Don’t go sleeping on me, Dal." I can hear his smirk, I can see the glint in his eyes.I try to keep from yawning and mumble softly against his leg, “Feels nice.”“I know,” he says smugly. “I need you to keep awake, though. Who’s gonna protect me from the ghosts?”“There ain’t no ghosts.”“There could be,” he whispers.
Relationships: Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	Kisses Under the Harvest Moon

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a prompt I got on tumblr! The prompt was: so...ghosts, huh?
> 
> make sure to check my tumblr out! @therealsehinton

“So...ghosts, huh?” I ask as Johnny tunes us into the program, turning to me with a bright face and a wide smile.

“I guess that’s what it’s about,” he shrugs. “Pony said it’s a good movie to watch, he saw it last year.”

Everyone’s spending their Halloween night out of the house--it’s rare for the place to be this empty and this silent, a little eerie even. Two-Bit’s using Pony as an excuse to go trick-or-treating, though we all damn well knew he dragged that kid out to knock on doors and get free candy. Steve and Soda are getting themselves into trouble--terrorizing children in monster masks and tossing rolls of toilet paper onto neighbor’s houses. And Darry’s taking a night off, probably for the first time in years, spending it at the Shepard’s place, doing God knows what there--Angela always goes out during Halloween and Curly should be on Pony’s ass right about now. Darry usually spends his 31st of October’s cooped up in the house alone, passing out candy to whoever rings the bell and watching the hundreds of movies that flicker on the TV screen. The difference tonight was Johnny Cade, confident in a jacket that was two sizes too big for him and looking up at Darrel with big eyes, offering to watch the house and make sure it didn’t get vandalized by no good delinquents. And maybe Darry was about to turn him down gently, but then I said I’d stay with him. That earned Johnny a deal and me the smallest grin of satisfaction, and two dimples in the blush of Johnny’s cheeks.

The night began with a few loud beeps as Johnny shoved popcorn into the microwave, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands behind him as the machine hummed in the background. Every once in a while he’d sneak me these small, happy glances. 

“This is my first Halloween not living with my parents,” he had said. “I dunno why, everything feels different. But in a good way. Exciting, you know?”

When a shrilling noise filled the air of the kitchen and a bucket was filled with buttery popcorn, Johnny sat us down on the couch and turned on the TV.

Sinister music plays as the film begins--it’s a black and white thing from another decade, I really doubt it has enough juice to scare anyone. Even still, when my gaze slides over to Johnny, I can’t help the concern that rises in my neck. Not that he’s too jumpy, he just doesn’t seem like the horror type.

I try to bring that up, softly.

He only rolls his shoulders and smiles, “I’m not a little kid, Dal.”

He isn’t, I’d never think so. But there’s something about that little grin he has, and the two dimples in his cheek--I can’t argue with him.

It isn’t long enough before the TV booms suddenly and Johnny jumps in his seat--the bucket of popcorn spilling all over the couch and on the floor when he does. A short shriek escapes his mouth as he draws his body nearer to me and huddles into my side--burying his face in my shoulder. 

We both stay still for a moment as he regains his breath, eventually cracking one eye open and looking up at me anxiously--he’s trembling a little. “Is it gone?”

His expression changes once he studies my face with the darkness of his eyes--noticing the way I’m biting the inside of my cheek and the crease in the corner of my eyes as I do my best not to laugh. He huffs and pulls away from me, shoving me with his palm harder than he probably intended.

“Go on, keep on laughing at me,” he says bitterly as I wipe away tears and clutch at the cramp forming in my stomach.

I take his shoulder in my hand, lazily draping my arm around him to bring him as close to me as he was before--feeling the fabric of the denim jacket I let him borrow, noticing how it pools around his body. He fights against my grip, only a little, surrendering all too easily to the crook of my embrace. “Now don’t get angry with me, Johnnycake. It ain’t my fault you chose a movie you can barely stand to watch.”

He looks up at me with a glare and a pout, the way his lips are set are practically mind-numbing. “I ain’t ever seen a movie like this before. I ain’t used to it, is all. I can stand to watch it.”

I can feel the little space between my brows crease as I look at him curiously. “You’ve never seen a horror movie before?”

“My mom didn’t let me,” he says simply. “She said that stuff gets the demons and devils inside of ya.”

There’s a snort in the back of my throat and I can’t hide it, I can’t hide the way the corner of my mouth twists up neither. The humor on my face makes the frown on Johnny’s set even firmer. He rolls his eyes and squirms out of my grasp. “If you keep on laughing at me, Dal-”

“Hold on,” I whine--the pitch of my voice higher than I usually let it be, wavering and thin and needy. I inch closer to him and wrap my two arms around his waist. 

He gets rigid when I do that, but only a little. I feel the beat of my heart speed up, almost as if I’ve never put myself in the situation before. It isn’t the first time with Johnny, but the warmth of his body, the curve of his pout, the brown in his eyes--it always gives me the same butterflies. Like I’m trying to convince him and convince myself all over again.

“I’m cold,” is the dumb excuse I muster. Not that I need an excuse, not at this point, but that’s the only way we allow ourselves to live it seems.

Johnny sighs and huddles closer to me, pretending to be all reluctant about it. The softness of his hair brushes against my cheek--he didn’t grease it today, I like when it isn’t greased. “I guess I’m a little cold too, Dal.”

He always plays hard to get, I wanna mention it but I like the thrill of the game. I just hold him to me, shifting a little so that his head is on my chest, and then shifting a little more so that my head ends up on his lap. It always feels natural that way. 

At some point, his fingers make their way to my head, carding through my blonde hair and gently scraping my scalp. 

“Don’t go sleeping on me, Dal." I can hear his smirk, I can see the glint in his eyes.

I try to keep from yawning and mumble softly against his leg, “Feels nice.”

“I know,” he says smugly. “I need you to keep awake, though. Who’s gonna protect me from the ghosts?”

“There ain’t no ghosts.”

“There could be,” he whispers, his little voice lighting me up and making me smile--the both of us chuckling behind our teeth.

At some point, I’m sitting up again, my shoulder brushing his, our arms touching. I notice the proximity of our hands, the way I could caress him just a bit with my pinkie if I only moved it that much. My eyes are always darting to his soft face, that faded scar under his left eye, and the tired bags that are finally easing into the color of his skin--the deep redness of his cheeks and the flutter of his eyelashes whenever he blinks. He catches me looking and grins, a gentle one. I notice those dimples again. I can’t help but notice them.

When another eerie sound floats from the television screen into the air, I touch our hands together--hoping he’ll meet me halfway. Soon our fingers are clasped, intertwined, and warm.

“Sorry,” he says in a shaky voice, “my hands are a little sweaty.”

I fall in love with the look on his face when I tell him I don’t care.

I don’t know when it started, maybe it had always been there. Since the day we first met, eyeing each other in curiosity, intent gazes meeting. Something drew me to him and him to me, we couldn’t explain it then--maybe we can now. 

Or maybe it was later on, when we spent all those late nights together. He would be so close to me, wrapped up in my blankets and my oversized shirts. And the paleness of the moonlight would hit his face in this way… it didn't take too long for me to realize how beautiful he was. Some kind of pretty and some kind of handsome, some kind of ethereal thing the scars and brushes tried to hide but never could--not when you look into the deep brown of his eyes. 

But maybe it was the way he would glance at me every summer up till this one, eyeing me up and down and smiling a little--something devilish like he had a secret he wasn't telling. The drawn out stares and those touches, brushes that teased your skin for less than a second before he gave you a feigned "oh, I'm sorry."

I remember all the little things like the way he would playfully kick me under the table when no one noticed, the way he always kept some kind of inside joke with me, the way he made me feel like I was separate from the world--all with a little curve of his lips.

And maybe it was the night we were too close for me to lie to myself, and I finally shut my mind down once he touched the back of my neck and drew me to him. 

He asked me then, voice low and kind, patient and understanding, "Do you want me, Dal?"

And when I didn't answer he said, "I gotta know what you want."

I switched my thoughts off like it was a radio and let myself feel for the first time in years--feel his lips, feel his skin, feel his hands, feel the thumping by my ribcage, the pool of warmth in my stomach and chest. A kiss and a breath and I was like something new, something different.

That’s what we’ve been for the past few months--tentative kisses and hidden touches, teasing hands and tight-lipped smiles, discreet laughs and too many secrets to count. Catching each other alone just for a small glimpse or so, just for a second to pretend. Kicking Darrel Curtis out of his house on Halloween night so we can cuddle on his couch. 

I feel him pressed against me and can’t help myself from looking at him one more time. He jumps a little at a crappy scare that plays on the screen, shifting even closer to me, tugging the sleeves of my jacket over his hands and hiding his face in my shoulder. Soon, he’s looking at me too. I feel so overwhelmed with the heat in my face, spreading to every part of my body, invading my fingers until they’re burning hot against his denim arm and small hands. 

“Dally?” He says, curiously, wide eyes on me, mouth parted. 

“How long do you think we got the house to ourselves?” I ask.

“Um,” he purses his lips pensively for a moment, “Darry’s spending the night at Tim’s, he said. Steve and Soda are never back ‘til morning, and Pony would come home soon but Curly and Two’ll be keeping him bus…” his voice trails off as his eyes flicker over mine again, moving around with a kind of shine to them--like they’re sparkling

I move my fingers to his jaw, feeling his skin there. “Can I-”

His lips are on me before I finish my sentence, begging me to push closer to him, to make our bodies flat against each other, just like his tugging on my jacket collar--which he eventually shoves off my arms, hard and forcefully, and it falls on the hardwood floor. I lean him against the chair of the sofa, he’s wrapped around my neck and my hips, rolling up to erase any kind of distance we have, and smiling into the kiss when I pull at his hair a little.

He laughs when my lips are on his neck, tickling him over and over by his adam’s apple, by his collarbone, by his shoulder--reluctantly letting me ease my jacket off him so I can get more skin, “it’s so comfortable, though.” Taking his face in both my hands and crashing us together, softly but forcefully all at once, juxtapositions invading my mind till I can’t see straight, till I can’t think. In the little moments I pull away, all I know is him and his laboring breath, his mouth, his smiling eyes. 

I pause right by his ear, around the shell of it--teeth scraping there accidentally, he breathes in sharply when I do, probably feeling the tips of my fingers at the hem of his shirt, touching his low stomach. “You think we could use Darry’s room?”

I look down at him and his face, this incredulous expression is settled there, eyebrows raised in confusion and humor. He laughs a little at first and then loudly all out at once, his giggles filling the room. “We are not going into Darry’s room.”

Chuckles rise in my throat like little bubbles and come out raspy. To lift my weight off of his body I’m propped up on one elbow, tilting my chin down to talk to him. “Why not? He won’t mind, he ain’t here.”

Johnny pushes his hand against my chest. “I’m not letting you.”

I lean to his cheek, giving a kiss there. “You ain’t the boss of me.”

“I’m not letting you,” he says firmly, a hint of a smile on his mouth.

I sigh deeply, pretending to be disappointed, and fall right on him. He snorts and squirms beneath me, struggling and squealing a little ‘get off me.’ I roll my eyes and groan. “Well, what’s the point of having the house to ourselves then, if we ain’t gonna do anything?”

He huffs. “This is a perfectly good couch and there is a perfectly good movie playing.”

“I don’t want the movie.” My lips press against his neck, dragging a little here and there, he sighs softly. “You know what I want.”

His voice is nothing but giggles. “You’re hopeless.”

I pull back again, staring at him with an intensity I can’t control. He goes red, hands twitching like he’s fighting the urge to hide his face and look away. “Hopelessly in love with you.”

He says nothing. A silence suddenly settles over us, the only noise invading our space is the staticky TV. I feel my heart squeeze a little.

“I was joking,” I say all too quickly, words fumbling over each other. Then I crawl into myself some more. “A little… or, well, not at all, really. But if you want that to be a joke it can be a joke, we don’t gotta rush into nothin-”

My back hits the couch when Johnny jumps up and on me in a frenzy, settling himself over my lap and bringing me into a tight embrace and hard kiss--long and clumsy and desperate and happy. His hands tangle in my hair and beg me forward, forcing me to open my mouth and kiss him hard back.

“I love you, too,” he says breathlessly once we stop, his brown eyes creasing with some kind of overwhelming joy--I feel it seep into me like it’s contagious, I must be smiling because my cheeks hurt so damn much. “Gosh, Dally, I really love you.”

“Oh,” is my response. Dumb, starstruck, euphoric. My mind is blank, floating in some astral realm like I’m high. “Oh, well, thanks. That’s good. I love you, too.”

He giggles sweetly, my heart lifts at that sound. “You told me already.”

Soon my fingers are brushing through his hair, holding onto him and asking for another kiss. When our mouths meet again, I whisper through feverish pecks, “I’ll say it again, too. I’ll keep saying it. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Maybe it’s seconds after, maybe it’s hours. All I know is we’re leaning on each other, tiredly looking at the black and white screen, blissed out and happy like we’ve never been. Crickets fill the cold air, just like the hysterical shrieks of tittering children. My hand is rubbing Johnny’s back and our legs are tangled together, every once in a while we just chuckle--because we can.

“This is my favorite holiday now,” I say. “Fuck Christmas.”

Johnny laughs so hard he nearly falls off of the couch. 


End file.
